


The Good Soldier

by North_of_Kyrimorut



Series: Foxiyo Week 2020 [6]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Clone Trooper Inhibitor Chips (Star Wars), Established Relationship, F/M, Fox Thoughts, Light Angst, Post-Order 66 (Star Wars), Somebody Lives/Not Everyone Dies, but he loves his wife, just because Fox is a good guy doesn't mean he's a good guy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-02
Updated: 2021-01-02
Packaged: 2021-03-12 07:48:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,308
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28506978
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/North_of_Kyrimorut/pseuds/North_of_Kyrimorut
Summary: It's the age of the Empire, and Fox has no idea how to be a civilian.Foxiyo Week 2020 - Secret: private, secluded, undercover
Relationships: Riyo Chuchi/CC-1010 | Fox
Series: Foxiyo Week 2020 [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2077149
Comments: 6
Kudos: 25
Collections: Commander Fox





	The Good Soldier

**Author's Note:**

> Original title, I know.
> 
> I did not have time proof this before posting, so expect even more than usual mistakes.

Rows upon rows of soldiers, neatly separated into platoons, companies, battalions. They all stood at attention, immaculate white armor gleaming under the lights of the hover cams.

Fox tried to be critical. His experienced eye could pick out the heights that varied more than the three-quarters centimeter allowance that the Kaminoans had deemed acceptable. He could detect a clumsy incline to many of the helmets, which suggested to him that their HUDs were not perfectly calibrated. And the less said about the E-11 blaster rifles the better. Even with the glossy cinematography of the parade report, Fox spotted several weapons he fairly itched to recalibrate.

It was a sobering, startling view of the Empire’s manpower on display. It was a mockery of all Fox’s brothers had been made and meant for. But it was also wonderful, and there was a silent, secret part of Fox’s heart that longed to be there, to feel the weight of that armor and the comfort of being lost in a crowd of white.

“Do I even want to know what’s on the HoloNet?” Riyo asked as she entered their apartment, hands full of grocery bags. It smelled like she had also gotten takeaway from Fox’s favorite vendor of the sinus-clearingly spicy local cuisine. 

“You can probably guess,” Fox said, and switched off the viewscreen. He got up to help her, though the little kitchenette had obviously not been designed for two beings.

Riyo tsked, but made no comment. She had bought extra provisions so they would not need to go out during the Empire Day festivities that had taken hold even on the little Mid Rim world they had chosen for its obscurity. Fox help shift the back stock to the shelves out of her reach. He marveled at the quiet domesticity of their life at the moment, the image of stormtroopers temporarily pushed away. They were half way through a standard-year lease, and it was the longest they had stayed in one place since they had started their lives together. 

It had been a break they had both recognized the need for, but hesitated to take. They had spent years moving, doubling back, hiding their steps even though presumably no one was coming after them. Riyo called it ‘an overabundance of caution.’ Fox called it necessary.

“Teni told me that the City Council approved fireworks at the last minute,” Riyo said. She had moved on to plating their dinner, a thick, spiced stew over fluffy grains. She opened up a little container of bright orange sauce and held it out for Fox to taste. Teni himself must have made it— Fox’s eyes started watering almost immediately. He gave Riyo a quick _all-good_ gesture and she poured the entire contents over Fox’s larger plate. “I think we might be able to see them from the roof.”

Fox had moved over to the cooler and pulled out a jar of fermented cream. He handed it to Riyo and she spooned a generous helping onto her own plate. “Do you actually _want_ to watch them?”

She shrugged. “Well. I may not be keen on commemorating the fall of the Republic. But I know you miss things that go boom.”

Fox snorted, but could not refute her statement. She was a wonderful woman, his Riyo. They had stood side by side to watch their lives and the institutions they had been devoted to crumble, but they had taken it—differently. For Riyo, she had experienced ever-mounting horror has the powers of the Senate were truncated, as systems lost elements of their sovereignty, as citizens found their rights and resources curtailed in daily life. But Fox had never been one for dwelling on questions of morality. He may have deserted (the word still felt ugly to him, but he insisted on using it because it was true) but that had less to do with the Empire and more to do with the Republic, and with Riyo. Fox watched the same news reports as Riyo, and saw the sensible streamlining of the chain of command and consolidation of resources where she saw tyranny and exploitation.

It made him wonder, very privately, if there really was something lacking in his cloned DNA—if he really was less of a man, as so many used to say.

But he had Riyo—truly had her. Fox had not taken to civilian life with any kind of grace, but she had stuck with him every step of the way and for years. For every difference in how they saw the galaxy, there was always a similarity, something that had their hearts beating in sync.

And so Fox pushed away thoughts of martial glory for the evening in favor of enjoying marital harmony.

* * *

Their ship was a very compact cargo runner, carefully chosen to be utterly inconspicuous. It was neither old nor new, kept in excellent repair but decidedly not flashy. Its registration was Wroonian, to match its blue owner at least in passing. It had been purchased with a combination of Imperial credits and Mon Cal flan (taken out on loan at an excellent interest rate.) Their freight was always small—usually luxury foodstuffs produced by artisans Riyo had befriended. It turned just enough of a profit to keep them liquid, and their stock was changeable enough to explain their always erratic itineraries.

Today, they had offloaded twelve cases of Mirialan honey and a batch of sand-aged blue milk cheese. The spaceport was sufficiently bustling and they managed a fair markup, though Fox speculated that emerald wine would have been the better good to offer. But a good transaction was incidental to the day’s business, and after closing negotiations with the local distillery to take on a few casks, they made their way to Riyo’s contact.

Fox thought that he probably looked suitably grumpy as they entered the clinic. It was Riyo who approached the receptionist droid and laid their cover story on thick.

“My husband’s been complaining about headaches,” she said, “but _I_ think it’s that broken molar of his that’s finally gone bad. My friend was supposed to set up an appointment for us…” she rattled off the name that showed up on their ship’s registration and that matched their immaculately crafted chain-codes.

The droid, its programming set to some awful chipper-caregiver mode, fairly cooed over Fox. “Oh, yes, there can be _so_ much deferred pain from a bad tooth, and it puts you organics _right_ out of humor. But Doctor Atarxis is _very_ qualified to deal with _either_ issue, and I’m _sure_ your spouse will leave feeling _orders_ of magnitude better.”

Fox did not need to playact an annoyed roll of his eyes. His hand was firmly on his forehead, and, frankly, he _did_ feel a headache coming on. “I thought I asked for no droids, wife.”

Riyo reached back to stroke his arm, as if soothing his bouts of ill-temper was a common occurrence. She said to the droid, “Just let us know when we can go back.”

The droid, probably in deference to some sensitivity subroutine, let them into one of the examination rooms quickly. The doctor followed in short order, and switched on a confidentiality scrambler around the room. Given the fact that Fox could detect the whine of the shielding with his own, unenhanced hearing, he had to speculate that the doctor had it on a much higher than regulation setting.

“You haven’t been to Fondor recently, have you?” the doctor asked, seemingly bored. “Bad parasite coming out of Fondor recently.”

“Bypassed entirely,” Riyo gave the set code phrase in response, “we came by way of Dantooine.”

The doctor abandoned the datapad he had been perusing, and his casual demeanor along with it. “Right. Let’s take a look. Go ahead and lean back into the scanner, trooper.”

Fox bit his tongue for what seemed like the twentieth time since Riyo had first came to him with intelligence of the alleged inhibitor chip. He had been extremely reticent about undergoing the procedure to remove it, even though Riyo trusted her information source. (Fox thought that any shiny who had stayed awake through the basic intelligence target acquisition module should have been able to correlate ‘Fulcrum’ to a particular one of Riyo’s old, presumed-dead friends. But he had to not think about that too much. It was… upsetting.)

“Yep, it’s there,” the doctor said. “Online, too, though I’m not detecting much activity. Probably still having the nightmares though, huh?”

Fox bit his tongue hard enough to taste blood. Weren’t doctors supposed to _keep_ your secrets?

Riyo glanced at him. She had her smooth politician’s face on, but the glint in her eye suggested they would be having a _discussion_ later. “I don’t think he actually sleeps enough to have nightmares,” she said lightly. “Can you remove it?

“Isn’t that why you’re here?” the doctor shrugged. Seriously, where did Tan—Fulcr—Riyo’s source _find_ these people? “Quick, simple procedure. You’ll only be out for a few minutes—”

“No,” Fox finally said, and both the doctor and Riyo looked startled. He took a breath in before continuing. “You can remove it. Just don’t put me under.”

The doctor looked unamused. “So. You want me to perform brain surgery on you without any sedation?”

“Quick and simple, you said,” Fox countered.

“Still brain surgery. The others—”

“We don’t need to hear about the others,” Fox cut him off. And it was true, there was no _need_. But, oh, there was a part of Fox that desperately _wanted_ to know what other brothers had passed through this room, and where they were, and if they were happy. He stomped down on that desire viciously. “I can be still.”

The doctor glanced at Riyo, who moved over to take Fox’s hand.

“Whatever he says, goes,” she backed him up simply. Stars, he loved her.

“Well, fine, then,” the doctor grumbled, and started laying out a few simple tools for the procedure. “Be it on your own head. Literally.”

A spray of numbing agent, the cold burn of a laser scalpel, and Fox saw hyperspace.

* * *

Back on the ship, Riyo helped him to the pull-out bed, buffeted by more blankets than anyone really needed.

She murmured for him to rest, and handled their clearance and take-off out of local space. Her hyperspace jumps had improved, Fox thought blearily. He barely felt the acceleration. Then again, maybe he was just that out of it—it hardly registered to him when she came in and settled on the bed beside him, her hand ghosting over the tiny bandage on his temple.

“Home by tomorrow,” she said. “How are you feeling?”

“Like someone sliced open my head,” he replied. He wished he could say _different._ He wished he could say _better_. Ever since Riyo had found out about the chip, he knew that she had started to harbor some quiet hope that its removal would _fix_ Fox, after a fashion. That his moral compass would be reset and better align with where hers was now pointing. He hated to disappoint her. “’M still me, Riyo.”

The smile she gave him read genuine, with no microexpressions to undercut the affection. “That’s good, Fox. I wouldn’t want it any other way.” She kissed his other temple, and rolled off the bed to finish inventory.

Left alone with his thoughts, Fox methodically examined himself. He thought about the chip—and the erstwhile Chancellor’s orders. He reached back to the years passed, replayed his actions, and still could find nothing off about his quick acceptance of his new duties. If he had thought it odd that the 501st, with their famously close bond to their Jedi general and commander, had spearheaded the work of clearing the Temple, well—they were soldiers. Good soldiers. And, after all, that was the _point_ of contingency orders. Had it been Order 65 issued instead, Fox would not have hesitated to turn his blaster on the Chancellor any more than he had on escaping Jedi.

It was the days and weeks after the initial order that showed the fractures amongst the brothers, and Fox didn’t think _that_ had anything to do with a chip controlling them. For every Bly, who held out for four days and then ate his deece, there was a Bacara who shrugged when asked about his Jedi and said, _If I had known, I’d have shot him as a traitor a lot earlier._ Fox knew, with the certainty of a man who had to be aware of his weaknesses, that given that range he fell much closer to the latter. No quick and simple surgery was going to fix that.

…but when he chanced to think about _Riyo’s source_ , he found that he could recall her name and the shape of her markings without setting his teeth on edge. So maybe that was something, and maybe Riyo would be happy with it.

He turned on his side and fell into a dreamless sleep.

* * *

Only a standard month remained on their lease. The part of Fox that still processed escape routes through the Senate Dome in his sleep was glad. He and Riyo were roosting nunas most of the time, just waiting for a predator to pick them off, and it made him itchy. The other part of Fox thought of how he had finally gotten the kyberbells to bloom on their rooftop garden and how they would not survive in the recycled atmosphere of the ship.

They had been kicking around the idea of staying just a little bit longer when circumstances changed again.

“Turn on the HoloNet,” Riyo said, as she walked in the door. She had made an early market run, and had a box of pastries and two fancy cafs. Normally, Fox would have thought of that as the start of a _good_ morning, but Riyo’s face was drawn. He flipped on the viewscreen and, at her direction, tuned to the channel casting from the planet’s capitol.

“What’s that look like to you?” she asked, taking an overlarge bite of bolberry puff.

The local high officials were front and center, along with a gaggle of officers in Imperial greys. The faces didn’t strike Fox as familiar, but he could read the new rank insignias like a second language. “Looks like we’ve got our very own moff.”

Riyo hummed and switched the feed to another local cast, this time coming from the capitol’s transportation hub.

Rows upon rows of soldiers, neatly separated into squads, platoons, companies. Their armor wasn’t quite the immaculate white of the parade months past. Fox’s evaluation of their kit made him think they had come to _work._ He knew what an occupation force looked like.

“Destroyer in orbit?” he asked, and Riyo nodded.

“Next week’s run has already been approved by the port authority, and our exit itinerary should be, too,” she said. “Should we consider not coming back in between?”

Fox shook his head. “Let’s avoid anything that might flag as irregularities in the systems. Do the run. Come home. Leave as planned.” _Come up with even more emergency exit strategies._

Riyo agreed, and they ate their breakfast in silence.

The camera was static on the crowd of stormtroopers, but Fox found his eye drawn to a flash of orange. A commander’s pauldron, he knew, but it didn’t quite suit its wearer. It only took him a fraction of a minute to evaluate the trooper. 1.83 meters on the dot. Kit in perfect condition. He walked a few paces forward and, yes, there was the kama swagger Fox had worked so hard to rid his own steps of.

That was one of his brothers. He didn’t know who—probably someone he had never met, some ARC who had just been minted in the days of the Republic’s fall. That was his own flesh and blood, an hour away on a speeder and a world separate from Fox.

He longed to be there with him, to be lost in the wash of white, and for once—Fox was angry. He was angry that the Emperor had played a long game, had directly determined to rope Fox and all his brothers into his plans, to use them in a war he had no intention of ever winning. He was furious that, from the moment of decantment through to receiving his commission, all that he had drilled into his head and heart was _the Republic, the Republic, the Republic_ and then the very figurehead _of_ the Republic shattered it.

“Palpatine made a mistake,” Fox said and Riyo turned to him in surprise. He saw the look in her eyes, the little spark of hope. He knew what she would have liked to hear: that unprovoked occupations were an infringement of planetary sovereignty, that citizens had the right to free and unobstructed movement, that speech and thought could be moderated but never censored, and that Fox believed all of that trespassing against those things wrong. And a part of Fox would have liked to have said so, but it wasn’t strictly, strictly true. “He made a mistake,” he reiterated. “He should have never renamed it the Empire.”

* * *

Their last cargo run, a short jump with hand-crafted candied fruit in the hold and bags of high-nutrient grain to round it out, went smoothly. They returned to their apartment, and packed the few remnants of their stay. They picked up dinner, and Teni gave Fox a few jars of bright orange sauce to get him through ‘until you decide to come back home.’ Fox cut off the last blooms on his kyberbell plant and held them out to Riyo like he was a hero in some costume holo. She laughed, and he applied all his tactical training to figuring out how to braid the iridescent flowers into her short hair.

In the dark of their bedroom, they talked about their next move. There was that market on Coyerti that would be a smart place to pick up new goods, and that winery on Bonadan that they were sure to get a good deal at. There was Riyo’s latest lead on medical intervention to slow Fox’s accelerated aging. And maybe—just maybe—they’d be able to manage that swing onto Pantora?

After a few minutes of silence, Riyo whispered, “I—that last update from Fulcrum.”

Fox gave a grumble of acknowledgement. He had scrubbed the communications relay on their ship before they had returned home.

“I want to do more, Fox.” Her voice was very, very quiet.

“I know.”

“But it’s you and me, always. First and forever.” Her hand clamped lightly over his mouth when he laughed. “I’m serious. If you say no, then its no.”

It wasn’t an empty promise. It taken him a long time to learn to say no to Riyo, but he could. He did. And every other time this had come up, he had.

He could picture the ranks of white armor before his eyes. He thought of the Empire’s efficiency, its swift responses and wonderful abilities. He thought of the weight of his DC-17s in hand, and of his brother trading his kama for a single orange pauldron. He thought of how much he loved all of it, how desperately he wanted to be a part of it. He thought of what should have been his—and wasn’t, because the Empire had stolen it from him. And his rage burned out the secret desires of his decanted heart.

He kissed Riyo’s palm, briefly, and then moved to hold her close. “Yes,” he whispered into her hair.

“ _Yes?_ ”

“Yes. We do more.”

Fox was not a traitor. How could he be, when the institution he had sworn loyalty to was gone? But he was a soldier, and maybe in this strange world of Galactic Empires and stormtroopers, that meant being a rebel.


End file.
